I'm a child of the '80s
I could talk to you about coming home from school to watch Karen Keating host Blue Peter, and how she made me feel funny inside.

I could talk about Paul Daniel's Magic Show and the incredible frilly miniskirts that the lovely Debbie McGee used to wear. I loved watching that programme but I would always have to sit with a cushion over my pyjama bottoms because I was ashamed of what was happening to Mr. Pee-pee.

The first really rude thing I ever saw, though, was thanks to my older cousin Dave. I was about twelve, and I idolised him. Dave was 18. He had a motorbike and an air rifle which he taught me how to shoot. I was probably a pretty irritating child to him but he never let that show, was always kind and patient and happy to include me in whatever he was doing.

Including looking at his enormous collection of grot.

Now this sounds very, very dodgy indeed but Dave was and is a fine man who had absolutely no interest in pubescent boys. He read his mags, and I was in the room so he gave me one to look at too. That was it. It was a surreal situation, looking back: we were like two elderly gentlemen sitting in a Pall Mall club silently reading the FT, occasionally calling each other's attention to a particularly disgraceful example of asset mispricing.

I remember he was a fan of Knave, Fiesta and Playboy, in the main. There was also an un-named small-format German magazine in which the models in every photo - male and female alike - were covered from head to toe in huge dollops of creamy spunk. It looked like they'd blown up a Mr. Whippy van. The girls in Playboy were a bit nicer to look at but there weren't as many of them. Fiesta and Knave were really dirty: they liked to show you what the ladies looked like on the inside, too.

I knew I wanted to have a tug but that was impossible in front of my cousin, so I tried to take a mental photograph of each lady. Only one remains in the spank bank: the very first deposit I ever made, right on line one of page one of a very, very long ledger book. She had curly blonde 1980s hair, a pearl necklace (of real pearls) and an open white fur coat. She was making a kind of "Oooh" face. I suppose the Fiesta stylist was going for a kind of "Dirty Diana" look. She was squatting outside next to a tree, her white stilettos piercing the carpet of fallen autumn leaves. Her left hand was parting the lips of her hairy vagina, while her right held a small Yorkshire terrier.

I wouldn't touch her with Spanky's now, but she did the job for a few months. The imagination of a child is such a precious thing.
( Scrumper, Thu 11 Aug 2011, 22:19, 4 replies)

it was the terrier that got you off you dirty little scrumper wasnt it ? eh eh ?
go on tell the world no one here will judge you you terrier loving tartan coller jizzing scrumper


you is a bad bad boy and need to be corrected
( fluffybunnykiller Is feasting on the clitoris of life, Thu 11 Aug 2011, 22:28, closed)

office lol
as ever when they say "what?" I really cannot say why
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 8:42, closed)

"I wouldn't touch her with Spanky's now"
an excellent turn of phrase
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 0:28, closed)

IMHO "asset mispricing" is a fine simile.
It suggests to me the use of a less refined, if more popular, saying: "You don't get many of them to the pound".
( The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 6:34, closed)